


Clueless For Red Lips

by scarletstring



Category: Red Velvet (K-pop Band), 소녀시대 | Girls' Generation | SNSD
Genre: Comedy, F/F, Fluff, Idols, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 21:21:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5180168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletstring/pseuds/scarletstring
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene is back home in Daegu before the start of Red Velvet's next cycle of promotions for her three day vacation, but what she doesn't expect to see knocking at her doorstep is a familiar sunbaenim who has crescent moons for eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was nice to finally be at home, away from the busy streets of Seoul and back to her familiar basement in her parent's house, doing laundry.

She inhales the comforting aroma of fabric softener, feeling her heart swell at the scent, cozying up in her chest like tender silk and warm blankets. Her body motions are automatic as she filters the clothes out one by one into a basket, pulling in a new batch from the washer to place into the dryer again.

 

It was nice to finally be at home, away from the busy streets of Seoul and back to her familiar basement in her parent's house, doing laundry.

 

Streams of light spill across her lap from the windowsill as she folds the apparels, humming a tune to a song Irene knows but have forgotten the words to as she settles her father’s green t-shirt beside her.

 

She moves on to her mother’s favorite red sweater, neatly straightening out the creases as the fractured rays play as her light, providing a somber view of her basement that hasn’t changed since she’d first been recruited as a trainee.

 

She sighs, puffs of relief leaving her lips, blissfully content – _doing laundry is so much fun,_ she thinks, whiffs of the detergent keeping her chest warm and comfortable.

 

 

Irene jumps, startled at the sound of shrieking wood, her mother’s head popping in through the doorway with a smile written across her face.

 

"Hyun-ah,” her hair is tousled; loose strands falling over her expression, “I didn't know you had a pretty friend coming over,”

 

She nearly topples the new pile next to her, elbow bumping against its side that Irene reaches out clumsily to keep them from falling, surprise lining her limbs as she steadies the rocky mountain of clean clothes, peering over her shoulder at her mother’s amused look.

 

Irene was sure she didn't announce her arrival in Daegu (preferring to keep discreet and quiet over her break) – and she definitely didn’t arrange to meet any of her friends either.

 

Her brows crinkle; mind playing with the list of potential candidates she considers ‘friends’.

 

"What pretty friend, mom?" She asks in her native dialect, already crossing off a few of the people she knew couldn’t be the one in her head – _can’t be Seulgi, Yerim, or Sooyoung since they’re staying with their parents; maybe Seungwan? Since her family’s in Canada?_

 

Irene snaps out of her thoughts as her mother urges her to move, leaving the doorway so she could shove Irene through it,

 

"How about you go greet her and find out?”

 

Irene stumbles up the stairs, her mother's hands the only thing keeping her from falling backwards as she guides – _practically pushes_ – her up the steps. She would’ve mistaken her mother’s odd urgency for excitement if it weren’t for the fact that her mother never got giddy over anything.

 

“Now,” her mother pats her back, tapping expert palms against the space between her shoulders, “I’ll be at the kitchen okay?”

 

Before Irene even gets to turn her head at her mother’s words, she’s already scurrying off, leaving her by the door; confusion crawling into her mind in wisps of smoke her mother left behind.

 

Her mother’s gotten weirder since she left. Irene’s not sure if it’s a good thing.

 

Returning her focus towards the door, Irene checks the side window, tentatively lifting a portion of the curtain to see who came by, but the visitor – a woman, has her back turned.

 

Almost timidly, Irene peers out from the door, making sure the squeaking wood is muffled by gentle fingers, scrutinizing the silent figure. Long ebony cascades down the woman’s back in waves, smooth like rhythmic water. Their heights aren’t that different – though Irene won’t acknowledge the few extra inches she’s envious of in the other woman.

 

Her grey hoodie looks oddly familiar though – same with the pink shoulder bag. 

 

Irene clears her throat, "Um, excuse me?" she calls out quietly, settling back into her Seoul dialect simply because it was more universal.

 

Shock plasters her face, her fingers sliding from the doorknob to settle beside her limply when the woman turns her head at her voice, her eyes curving into those signature crescent moons she’s so well known for.

 

"... S-Sunbaenim?"

 

Tiffany smiles – _deep red lipstick_ , her eyes disappearing and Irene still vaguely remembers needing to close her mouth.

 

"Hey," she says simply.

 

Irene's brain must be malfunctioning because why hasn't she moved past the fact that her sunbaenim was here? And why did her greeting sound so casual like this was a normal occurrence?

 

Irene blinks, forgetting that her mouth is still open until Tiffany's slim finger slides it up from beneath her chin, finally closing it shut. Irene blushes at her sunbae's amused grin and twinkling eyes.

 

"If you keep that up I'll end up counting the number of teeth you have again," She chuckles, pulling back and giving Irene space to breathe. Since when did she even hold her breath to begin with?

 

Irene blinks three times; the first to register the reality that Tiffany is really here, twice just for good measure, and the last to recall that she must be the pretty friend her mom was talking about.

 

"Hyun-ah, staring isn't very nice." Irene jumps again at her mother's appearance, holding a hand to her chest as Tiffany bows in greeting. "I told you she was pretty though, didn't I?"

 

"M-mom,"

 

Irene manages to stumble over the introductions, stuttering things like, ‘My sunbaenim', 'Girls’ Generation', and 'Takes good care of me', that her mom laughs and tugs Tiffany's wrist to usher her in, leaving Irene by the doorway to close it.

 

"She sounds great dear, so why haven't we invited her in yet?"

 

As soon as they disappear around the corridor, Irene slaps her forehead at her lack of mannerisms. She apologizes once she reaches Tiffany, remaining bemused by her mother's fussing.

 

She lowers her head a little as she sits beside her, mumbling, "Sorry for making you stand outside, sunbaenim..."

 

Tiffany hushes her with a hand on her head, patting it gently.

 

"Don't apologize okay? And no need to be so formal. We're on vacation, after all."

 

Irene lifts her head to look at her, a shy smile playing the corners of her lips. She merely nods as Tiffany brings her hand back.

 

"How about we start by calling me 'unnie'?"

 

Irene doesn't think she should. Tiffany is from Girls’ Generation. _The_ girl group of Korea; and her _sunbaenim._ Why would she call her anything else but her respective title?

 

Irene waves a dismissive hand, shaking her head.

 

"That's okay. I'm used to calling you sunbaenim anyway,"

 

Tiffany sends her a pout and suddenly Irene isn’t sure why she's thinking it's cute. ...Not that her sunbaenim couldn't be cute of course, but that was beside the point.

 

Somewhere between talking about their senior-junior relationship to Tiffany sharing similar interests like the color pink with her mother, it has somehow been settled that Tiffany's staying for the three days that they're on vacation in her _house._ In her _room._ In her _bed._

 

When it finally registers, Irene spits out water, choking out what's left and burns the brightest red that would put her family's tomato garden to shame.

 

Tiffany's patting her back and her mother is burning holes through her forehead.

 

"I can just stay at a hotel, so..."

 

"Oh no no _no,_ dear, you're staying here and I'm not taking no for an answer."

 

Irene's rather surprised at her mother's persistence, but she can't question her (at least, not in front of sunbaenim) until she can pull her away from curious brown eyes.

 

Tiffany's looking at her, the curve of her lips managing to be a culmination of helpless, apologetic, and excited, all at once. Irene's not sure how to feel about that.

 

Taking her silence as a cue for _'go ahead I'm certainly not objecting'_ , her mother claps her hands together and shrieks in delight.

 

"Okay Hyun-ah, go show her your room and I'll prepare the tastiest dinner tonight."

 

As if in a daze, Irene mutely nods her head, standing up slowly, ushering Tiffany to follow her into the hallway with a nervous smile. As soon as she faces forward, her expression hidden from the older woman's view, Irene bites her lip in worry.

 

It's not like she minds her sunbaenim sharing a room with her (it'd literally be equivalent to sharing a room with her members, considering she knew them just as long as she did her sunbaenim), it's just that she's in the presence of _the_ sunbaenim. _Girls' Generation._ Now, that wouldn't have been a big deal either (she knew them well enough that they were practically family, and what with the occasional sleepovers at the sunbaenims’ dorm) but how was she going to get any sleep if a Girls’ Generation member was sleeping in her bed, right _next_ to her?

 

The bed isn’t made to fit two people. What is her mother thinking?

 

Once she shows Tiffany her room, she makes up a lame excuse to talk to her mother. _“Checking on mom because she's getting old,”_ and hurries out, strides so fast that she whizzes past her father who's busy reading a newspaper that it flies out of his hands and she has to pick it up and return it to him.

 

Once she makes it back into the kitchen, her mother humming to a song in her head, _Girls’ Generation’s Party,_ Irene nudges her ribs as soon as she settles beside her.

 

"Really, mom?" Is all Irene says, frowning as her mother continues to chop carrots, seemingly unperturbed.

 

"Yes really. It'll be like all the sleepovers you said you had with them before,"

 

"But that's different," Irene's lips form tighter, crossing into a pout.

 

"Different how?"

 

"We're sleeping in the same bed, mom."

 

"So? You've always been quite the cuddling type, so I think it works out just fine."

 

Irene goes weak in the knees for a completely different reason.

 

"Wait – but _mom,_ "

 

She hushes her with a look, the knife pausing briefly mid-air before cutting away at the carrot again.

 

"Hyun-ah, we're not going to make a Girls’ Generation member sleep on the couch.” She quips, pouring the mountain of diced carrots into a bowl, “And a hotel is a no-no, because she should be able to sleep in a home once in a while, right?" Her smile is small and all-knowing, even with the tousled strands covering half of her face.

 

Irene’s mouth clicks shut. She can't argue with that.

 

Her mother continues on, the wrinkles crinkling above her brows. Her lips curve wistfully as empathy spills between her teeth.

 

"Nothing is more like home than having family with you,"

 

Irene sees warmth in her eyes, motherly and sincere and affection rises up in her chest. Without words – suddenly anything coherent faded from her lips, Irene wraps her arms around her mother and squeezes, feeling her return the touch with a pat on her head.

 

"Now go make her feel at home, okay?"

 

She nods, cuddling closer, snuggling just a little longer. Irene can smell the signature lilac in her mother’s shampoo – and it opens the dam for tears to spill, as if finally realizing the gravity of being here, away from Seoul.

 

Right. _Home._

 

Irene sniffles, rubbing the tears away against her mother’s neck. “… Okay,” and chokes on emotions of having missed home as her mother’s fingers stroke her scalp, weak laughter erupting from her throat at her mother’s cooing, _“Oh Hyun-ah,”_

She’s home.

 

/

 

It's so quiet.

 

Despite the gentle whirring of the washing machine murmuring in the background, it's still too silent for Irene. Normally she likes the silence. Revels in it. Sleeps in it even (she's not the type to fall into slumber with music playing), but this is a different type of quiet.

 

This is _too_ quiet.

 

It's the overbearingly awkward quiet where you know you two are the only ones in the room and are capable of making small talk but you aren't because you're not sure if the other likes the silence, doesn't want to talk, or doesn't know what to talk about either.

 

So you're both just there taking up space, breathing the same air, hearing the same sounds, and not acknowledging each others presence despite knowing very well that they're there.

 

And it's killing her.

 

Irene's trying to distract herself with the silence, folding clothes as she waits for the next batch in the dryer to be done. She doesn't ask for assistance because she's a guest and she doesn't want her folding their lingerie (more for her sake than the rest of the family's though - what if Tiffany sees her purple bunny underwear?!)

 

Irene nearly drops the red shirt with a panda on it that her mother loves so much at the mere thought.

 

... Oh god she hopes it wasn't part of any of the newer batches being washed or dried.

 

She just doesn't understand though.

 

Why is Tiffany in the basement watching her do laundry?

_Right. To make her feel more at home,_ Irene thinks but it falls flat in her mind. She's always been the type who doesn't know how to keep the conversation going (unless they happen to share the same interests, then it's a lifesaver), so Irene always left that up to her members.

 

She's on her own and it's frightening.

 

Irene normally finds solace in washing her clothes and the smell of laundry detergent. But it's hard to focus on the scent of clean clothes when Tiffany's eyes are following her every motion. Looks like she'll need to add extra fabric softener for a stronger scent to distract her from Tiffany's lingering gaze.

 

By the time she notices the second pile of clothes being placed beside her, and the purple bunny underwear she hoped wasn't anywhere in the room, being folded so calmly by Tiffany right next to her, Irene has enough practice not to squeak a single sound as Tiffany nonchalantly places it in the lingerie batch, before reaching for a blue shirt and folding again.

 

… Since when did Tiffany start helping her anyway?

 

Irene can feel her ears burn hotly at the purple bunny underwear as it stares back up at her with that huge grin on its face.

 

The bunny's lucky it's printed on purple underwear or else it wouldn't be a part of her wardrobe.

 

"Cute," Irene blinks at the sound of Tiffany's voice, the smile evident on her lips. "That yours?"

 

And she can't remember a time more embarrassing than admitting the underwear belongs to her. Her cheeks flush and the warmth sizzles on her face that Tiffany takes her silence as a loud resounding yes.

 

Tiffany chuckling gets Irene hiding behind her hair, her hands making up as extra shields as she covers the red on her face.

 

"It's okay, Joohyun." And Irene doesn’t know why hearing Tiffany say 'it's okay' makes her hide further into her hair, pulling more strands so it even covers her nose. "I said it's cute, didn't I?"

 

Irene lets slip a whine and reddens further at her own childish sound. Thank goodness for long hair, Irene thinks as Tiffany's laugh filters through her ears again, a gentle husky sound that manages to carry both amusement and empathy.

 

When she feels something warm press down tenderly on her head – patting her scalp, Irene peeks out from behind her hair and between slender fingers to see Tiffany smile at her, her eyes shut into a pair of crescent moons.

 

"Cute,"

 

It's not the first time Irene's heard someone call her that. Or pretty. Or beautiful. Or gorgeous.

 

But it's certainly the first time she holds her breath and hears her heart drumming in her ears at the sight of smiling eyes even when she's heard the compliment a thousand times.

 

... Yeah, she definitely needs to buy extra fabric softener.

 

/

 

It’s nighttime.

 

Irene didn’t think she’d dread going to bed as much as she currently was now.

 

Dinner had been great, for the most part. Tiffany blended well with the rest of her family, laughing along to jokes her father said, giving life-long advice to her younger sibling, and talking about the latest trends with her mother. Tiffany practically became family.

 

She didn’t talk much at the table, because Tiffany was far more interesting to listen to, and when she finally did, it was to try to keep her mother quiet about her ‘cuddling’ nature – to no avail.

 

“She’s the cuddle type, that one.” Her mother had smiled at her, beaming white teeth and all, eyes crinkled in mischief at her daughter’s mouth dropping the instant it was out. “All cuddling up like that cute animal… what was it called again?”

 

Irene had muttered under her breath once she got her mouth to close from the shock. “…A koala, mom.” She had said shyly, covering her face with her hair again, inwardly groaning at her predicament.

 

Tiffany had laughed beside her, those eyes curving into crescents again that Irene had to put in the effort to look away.

 

Now she’s in the washroom, taking her precious time to think over the lines in her head, making up a script of how things may go once she enters her room. Tiffany’s currently changing into her PJ’s and Irene can’t bring herself to be in the room when she’s doing so.

 

Irene combs back her hair with a hand, a sigh escaping her lips. Her mind’s in a frizz and nothing’s quite working out in her head. Should she be formal? Or more comfortable? She’s supposed to be making her feel at home, right?

 

Irene claws at her scalp. She can’t predict what will happen because she doesn’t actually know her sunbaenim that well.

 

Taeyeon is easier because they share plenty of similar interests. They could talk about laundry, even. Irene knows she can go hours on end about the different types of laundry detergent. But Tiffany sunbaenim? Irene doesn’t actually know much about the girl at all – aside from her love for pink, of course.

 

And her smiling eyes.

 

She feels the blush rising up again.

 

Irene settles for splashing water across her face, repeating it three more times just so she can cool the heat off her skin. When she looks up and sees the reflection of her ears still red, Irene flits her fingers through the strands so it covers it, hiding away from curious eyes and crescent moons.

 

/

 

It’s quiet again.

 

Irene twiddles with her fingers beneath her sleeves; purple and mix of cotton and polyester. They’re in bed together, the mattress barely big enough for the both of them that their arms keep touching from the tiniest movement one would make.

 

She shouldn’t have chosen to wear shorts – seriously. Whenever she tries to get comfortable (her legs like moving), their skin would brush (Tiffany’s wearing shorts too, and that’s something Irene has mixed feelings about) and the heat would rise from her neck to her cheeks.

 

Their legs bump again when she tries to move farther away, give sunbaenim some more space (and her chest too – why is her heart so loud in her ears?), and Irene squeaks her apology for the 14th time.

 

“…S-sorry sunbaenim,”

 

The air in her room reflects the tension in her stomach, tight and twisting. Irene can practically see the thickness – see the way the awkwardness fogs over them that she can hardly breathe.

 

Tiffany’s low chuckle is rasp and refreshing, cutting away the cloud over them like smooth silk.

 

“You really don’t have to be formal with me,” Tiffany says, the two of them staring aimlessly at the ceiling. Irene tries not to show she’s embarrassed by her glow-in-the-dark-sticker stars that are still plastered on it, fiddling with her fingers beneath her sleeves above her stomach to hide the jitters in her fingers. “And if you keep apologizing like that, the awkwardness might just get bigger if it hasn’t already.”

 

Irene feels inclined to say that it certainly did after silence protrudes the air again following Tiffany’s soft voice – she could even hear the clock on her desk a few feet away ticking by. It’s so loud.

 

Tiffany’s husky chuckles flutter in the silence, “… It got bigger didn’t it?” she says with a lilt in her tone, amused, an apology dancing between each breath.

 

It takes a moment for Tiffany’s words to sink in, the quiet trailing after like wisps of smoke caressing her ears before cradling Irene’s mind and turning the gears in her head.

 

Once it clicks, laughter leaves Irene’s lips faster than her hand could reach her mouth to hush it and Irene’s about to apologize too for her behavior, until Tiffany’s voice joins hers and they’re a giggling mess in the tiny dimly lit bedroom.

 

Irene finds it sort of nice – how they’re naturally facing each other now, hushed laughs leaving their throats, strands of hair – brown and black in disarray; molding together like waves crashing between the small distance that keeps them apart.

 

Irene can see despite the weak light of her lamp the crescent curves of Tiffany’s eyes; smiling with a warmth she should be accustomed to already but it somehow still leaves her a little breathless every time.

 

She’s seen it more than she could count – on TV, at music shows, in practice rooms – Irene has seen it enough times that she could picture it in her mind even, and it would still be capable of wringing her lungs of oxygen and squeezing the air out of her lips.

 

When their laughter dwindles to soft giggles and husky chuckles, Irene’s worried they’ll go back to being awkward again – have the air thick and suffocating.

 

Tiffany seems to have caught onto her fear, expertly bringing up another topic. “Do you like stars?”

 

It takes Irene three dazed blinks to register the fact that Tiffany’s trying to keep the atmosphere light and away from heavy silence. Irene nods quickly, hands curling over her fingers so she could steady the nervous jitters ringing across them.

 

She’s not used to taking on conversations alone, but Tiffany’s small smile helps quell the nerves in her limbs.

 

Irene’s voice is small, “… Yes, I – well, they help me fall asleep.”

 

“Help?” Tiffany parrots, shifting slightly closer – like it helps her hear her better.

 

Irene tries not to think about the way their legs are touching, how warm her skin is getting because of the blush that’s painting across every stroke of Tiffany’s colder skin; how every little bump of the knees and shuffling ankles makes her warmer faster than her cotton blankets.

 

She tries not to take note of the minute details on Tiffany’s face, being so close that Irene could see the specks of little imperfections normally hidden under makeup and tinges of dark circles beneath brown eyes.

 

Irene nods again, attempting to hide behind curtains of her auburn hair because Tiffany being this close to her is both intimidating and tantalizing.

 

“I, um – I count them,” her legs move out of habit so her feet wouldn’t slip out of the covers, rising up and sliding against Tiffany’s that Irene squashes the squeak squirming its way out of her throat – _be calm, be calm_ – “And when I get tired of counting, I fall asleep…”

 

_Be calm, Tiffany sunbaenim isn’t bothered so you shouldn’t be either._

“Wendy certainly wasn’t kidding,” Tiffany says, affection spilling out of her voice like a faucet, cascading over Irene’s ears at the way her tongue rolls her member’s name. It bothers her, how smooth it sounds. “You’re like a kid. It’s cute,”

 

Wings begin to flutter in her stomach and Irene wonders if it’s a good thing.

 

“I count sheep in my head to fall asleep,” Tiffany starts, husky caresses brushing over her eardrums in soft tendrils, “And imagine them pink because they’re better to look at.”

 

“But…” Irene fiddles with the sleeves of her purple sweater – ignoring the way Tiffany’s gaze feel like it’s burning holes through her forehead. “… Wouldn’t it be better for the sheep to be boring so you would fall asleep faster?”

 

Tiffany’s soft laughter somehow worms its way into her chest, nestling there, gentle and warm. It loosens the nervous constrictions still roped around her heart, pulling at the strings; untying knots, her voice as tender hands.

 

“Counting until there’s a lot of pink sheep does wonders,” Tiffany’s lips curve upwards as she curls strands of black behind her ear. “I would end up following them and before I knew it, it’d be morning.”

 

Irene’s mouth tilts at the corners, laughter lines drawing circles around her lips; her sunbaenim’s rather adorable.

 

The thought doesn’t slip past her, but before Irene could dwell on it any further, Tiffany’s mouth is already moving,

 

“How do you like it so far?” Irene brushes away a few of the strands covering her face so she could see Tiffany better; see the way curiosity dances in swirls of clouds across her eyes. “Being an idol,”

 

Irene hums, a thoughtful sound escaping her lips, thrumming her throat. She doesn’t mind the question – in fact, she’s rather positive Tiffany’s trying to keep the conversation going; to avoid the awkward tension that could manifest itself again and leave them in blaring silence. She’s grateful for it.

 

Her eyes meet Tiffany’s briefly before trailing down to the circles underneath.

 

“… I like it,” Irene can feel her fingers itch to reach for them, smooth over the darkness and wipe away the exhaustion painted on it like they’re ingrained. “I like performing, and seeing the fans happy, jumping around, screaming even – it makes me happy too.” She keeps her hands from moving, interlocking her fingers together so they’ll stay right in front of her.

 

Tiffany’s hands bump into hers when she moves an arm so it’ll settle under her head. Heat grazes a mark where their skins touch, and Irene could still feel the warmth oozing even when the moment has long passed.

 

“That’s good,” Tiffany looks like she wants to reach out, hold her hand from the way she shifts forward, almost like she’s unsure of herself – _Sunbaenim nervous? No way,_ Irene’s about to unlace her fingers so she can, but she’s a second too long. “… Just – this line of work changes people. Sometimes.” Tiffany’s already pulling away and Irene has the urge to grasp it back. “For good or for worse, and – well, don’t let it change you too much, okay?”

 

Irene doesn’t have to see the worry fogging Tiffany’s eyes and the slight frown curling over her lips.

 

It’s moments like these that remind Irene that she’s the younger one for now. Not the leader of Red Velvet – of four other members, and not the oldest child in her family, but the little one – and Tiffany’s instincts are protective (perhaps it helps that another Joohyun is part of Girls’ Generation) but it warms Irene regardless, the older woman’s care leaving her lips in husky melodies.

 

Perhaps the affection underlying Tiffany’s words raises a courage Irene’s not used to having, but she’s grateful for it.

 

Irene closes the meager gap between their fingers, laces them together to let Tiffany know she’s heard her – that she’s listening.

 

“… Okay,” she says, her whisper like silk, quiet and gentle so she could ease the trembling fear cornering Tiffany’s eyes.

 

Tiffany’s fingers tangling with hers unties the knots around her chest, unlatches the nervous tension she had before completely. Irene can feel the relief wash over her skin, soaking her whole in waves across her heart like warm tides.

 

They stay like that for a while, hands laced like they’re sewn together; topics exchanged about current fashion trends to the types of music they prefer. Irene’s not sure how late it is – _1 AM, or was it 2?_ – but she doesn’t feel that sleepy at all; not with how comfortable it is to talk to her, share hushed whispers and quiet giggles in the dim room.

 

Irene’s smile draws itself on her lips when Tiffany yawns, a hand over her mouth before revealing a shy smile of her own, an apology already spilling between her teeth, cushioning the momentary pause like cotton.

 

“Sorry – what were you saying?” Tiffany says, tugging at Irene’s hand, ushering her to continue.

 

She can already tell the tired lines between the crinkles of Tiffany’s eyes, the creases above her brows. If the dark circles beneath brown pools weren’t already strong indicators of exhaustion finally catching up with her, then it’d be in the way Tiffany’s fingers are falling limp in her grasp, squeezing her hand in intervals to let Irene know she’s still awake.

 

Irene tries not to think about how great Tiffany looks even with droopy eyes and lopsided smiles – how sweet she is for trying to keep her company, ridding slumber away for as long as she could.

 

She lets her fingers draw circles on the back of Tiffany’s hand, to soothe the exhaustion in her brown eyes, urging her to let the curtains fall over them.

 

“We’ll talk more tomorrow, so go to sleep okay?” Irene’s words come out in murmurs, tone hushed as Tiffany’s eyes gradually disappear, like her voice is lulling her to sleep. “Go follow your pink sheep, sunbaenim.”

 

Tiffany’s sleepy laughter sparks a fire in her chest, burning the strings tied around the beating organ and lets her breathe in the comfort Tiffany’s fingers bring, even when it falls limp completely and Tiffany’s no longer holding her hand.

 

Irene doesn’t let it slip from her grasp, reaching out to cradle the older woman’s hand between hers, her finger still drawing circles even when Tiffany has already fallen into slumber. _“Good night, sunbaenim.”_

 

She curls a stray strand of black behind Tiffany’s ear, instinctively brushing away the loose ones beside it, tucking them back so her face isn’t shadowed over in curtains of hair.

 

The creases between her brows are gone, but even when there are no more crinkles wrinkling Tiffany’s expression, Irene still can’t help but smooth out invisible lines, running her thumb across soft skin.

 

Irene gets it – how Tiffany’s such a social butterfly.

 

It’s not just the smiling eyes – though she has to admit that it certainly draws people in and keeps them trapped under her gaze; even when she’s ironically not looking, or the sweet curve of her lips – or so she attempts to convince herself, her thumb lingering at the corner of Tiffany’s mouth.

 

Tiffany’s just endearing; she has a way of talking to others without coming off overbearing or nosy – she makes Irene _want_ to talk.

 

Irene rubs at the small patches of red still stuck on the flesh, remnants of her lipstick still latching on. Tiffany must’ve been more worn out than she thought if the older woman couldn’t clean it off entirely.

 

Once she’s sure there’s nothing left but the natural hue of Tiffany’s lips, Irene turns around so she could flick the switch, shutting off the lamp, taking note of the clock on her desk. _3:23 AM._

No wonder Tiffany went out like a light – it’s late.

 

But as Irene shuffles back so she could look at Tiffany again, trying to map out her face in the dark, Irene lets her mind wander for a bit, taking Tiffany’s hand into hers and cradling it close to her chest.

 

Her eyes adjust to the darkness, sees the outline of Tiffany’s lips, the contours of her nose and jawline. Irene raises the blanket so it covers them both, a smile crawling up her face when Tiffany instinctively snuggles into the material.

 

Tiffany’s a nice sunbaenim. Sweet, even.

 

Irene hadn’t known her as well when she first came knocking at her door – only the stories she’s heard from her other members and label mates, _“She’s kind,” “She’s really smiley,” “Fany’s loud, but she’s tolerable. And cute,” “Talkative, but she means well,”_ and everything else in between.

 

But now that she’s gotten to talk with her a bit more, Irene sees it’s all true – _kind, smiley, loud, tolerable, cute_ –

 

Tiffany shuffles closer, as if she could sense the heat from her fingers and shifts for the source. Irene attempts to back away, keep some distance between herself and the sunbae, but she feels the edge of her bed and knows she can’t go any farther.

 

Irene’s not sure why the fire in her chest rises up her neck, colors her ears and cheeks red (she knows they’re bright like neon signs even in the dark) with the way Tiffany’s nose brushes her own and fizzles the thoughts in her mind – makes the gears stop turning and limbs malfunction at their proximity.

 

Irene could feel her face burn brighter at the way Tiffany’s nuzzling against her like she’s a pillow, motioning closer for the warmth Irene knows her body’s naturally giving off.

 

The science doesn’t make the red stop from painting her skin – Irene knows it’s certainly not helping that she’s heating up and getting warmer when Tiffany’s literally _feeling_ for the warmth in the first place.

 

Tiffany’s brow bumps against hers, and the little hairs makes the ones on her neck stand at attention. Irene’s straining her eyes in the dark (since when did she start struggling to see?) – she could only feel Tiffany’s breathing, how her breaths of life touch her lips in wisps of invisible fog, paralyzing her limbs and rendering her motionless to Tiffany’s unconscious movements.

 

Irene’s throat clogs up at the feel of plump flesh bumping against the space between her brows; Tiffany’s lips lingering there, barely grazing the skin warming up at the touch.

 

The lack of movement tells Irene that the older woman has settled in her spot, breaths crashing in soft waves against her forehead, lighting the skin there like an inferno.

 

Irene lets her mind register everything, from the way her back is right at the edge of her bed, to her hands still cradling Tiffany’s like it anchors her in place. The blush across her face mirrors the heat emitting from her legs and arms – Irene realizes their limbs are tangled together beneath the sheets, their warmth molding together like sizzling ember.

 

She tries to swallow the ball of nerves suddenly scratching against her, tries to make it disappear because she shouldn’t be feeling so nervous – so bothered and so _hot._

 

Irene wants to count the glow-in-the-dark stars plastered on her ceiling and sleep; but she can’t when she could feel Tiffany breathe and each ghost touch makes her heart sprint like it’s trying to run away.

 

So she settles for hushing the thrumming in her chest, calming the jitters in her heart as she breathes in, and then out. Irene makes do with her predicament, ignoring the way her fingers tingle like sparklers of fireworks, letting one of her hands go so she could reach out and grasp the front of Tiffany’s pink sweater.

 

Irene lets false bravado control her limbs, convinces herself that she’s already stuck (she doesn’t bother with the choice of pushing Tiffany away – it’s not an option), motioning closer so she could nestle in the crook of Tiffany’s neck, her nose brushing the skin where Tiffany’s heart beats the loudest.

 

Almost as if entranced by the calm rhythmic thrum, Irene tilts a little so her lips press against the skin, lingering there so each beat pulses against her mouth, memorizing the pattern and sketching it across her own chest. Irene lets the melody match together – lets the beats connect like puzzle pieces, before pulling away, ignoring the way her ears are drowning in lava.

 

What was she even thinking?

 

_I… I just –_

 

Irene buries her face against warm skin, trying to hide away the flushing red sizzling out in smokes of heat. She feels equal parts embarrassed, confused, curious, and terrified, all at once.

 

_Did I just kiss –_

She won’t let her mind finish it. She _can’t._

 

But even when Irene attempts to end it there, pressing close, gripping onto Tiffany like it’ll help ease the flutters of wings in her stomach and let her sleep, the fleeting trail of scorching heat still lingers on her lips, pulse pounding as if Tiffany’s heart is still beating against it.

 

As if igniting the rest of her senses (or maybe she’s just close enough to tell), Irene smells whiffs of strawberries and peach, soft and tender like Tiffany – and it’s dizzying.

 

Irene could almost taste them; from the way its scent is so vivid it blindsides her vision. Her eyes flutter shut, lashes skimming across Tiffany’s skin like brush strokes so she could steady herself – so she could stop the images (since when did pictures of glow-in-the-dark stars become Tiffany sunbaenim?) from spinning in her head.

 

But even in the dark, Irene still sees Tiffany.

 

_I kissed –_

 

The action still plagues her, etching at her memory like a tattoo.

 

It takes time – Irene doesn’t know how long, but she manages to fall asleep despite the chaos in her head and the discord in her limbs (Irene can’t believe the jitters have returned; her fingers won’t stop shaking).

 

The thrumming pattern still pulses the edges of her mouth, the warmth of Tiffany’s neck still lingering on her lips even when the room’s getting cold and Irene has to bring the blanket up further to stave off the chill.

 

As if sensing her distress, Tiffany’s arm reaches over her, wraps her in warmth faster than the sheets could and pulls her in, allowing Irene to snuggle deeper into the heat. Tiffany’s beating pulse never leaves her even when the curtains fall over her mind – hushing her thoughts, and Irene starts to dream.

 

Irene sleeps wearing Tiffany’s heart on her lips.

 

/

 

Irene scrunches her nose, something long and soft tickling her skin.

 

It smells like strawberries, with hints of peach and – why can she feel the warmth so close like she could taste the heat?

 

Irene rubs at her eyes, frowning at the sound of laughter, husky and cracked like someone’s trying to muffle it but it’s slipping between their fingers.

 

“Your mom wasn’t kidding,” the voice says, low and amused, “You really _are_ like a koala.”

 

Mumbles only leave Irene’s lips in response, incoherent, her mind still stuck in a foggy haze of white smoke as the chuckles latch onto her earlobes – crawling in and drawing pictures amidst the clouds in her head of a woman with black hair and crescent moons for eyes.

 

But Irene’s too tired to process the image – _it could wait_ , returning her hands back around the lump of warmth, preferring the heat to massage over her eyes than limp fingers. She doesn’t really want to wake up anyway. _It’s cozy._

The laughter comes back, soft like cotton. “How long did you stay up to be sleepy like this?”

 

Irene only hums in reply, finding comfort in the way the voice has tender touches lining its tone. She presses closer, feeling the corners of her lips curl up at the fleeting caress over her brows, sweeping the strands of hair to comb it back over Irene’s ear.

 

Now _this_ was how Irene would like to wake up every morning.

 

… _Was it morning?_

 

“Cute,”

 

Right. Being called cute in the morning; _it feels like morning at least,_ is definitely a great way of –

 

Irene’s eyes flash open, popping out like they want to jump out of its sockets as the picture of Tiffany replaces the fog in her mind completely. She freezes up at the feel of her lips grazing smooth skin, warm beneath the flesh, oozing onto her mouth like hot glue.

 

Her eye lashes comb against the skin, blinking away the rest of the daze in her head and Tiffany laughs at the motion, _“That tickles, Joohyun,”_ And Irene tries to stop moving – tries to stop _breathing_ because –

 

“You’re actually really cuddly, Joohyun.” Tiffany says as if in afterthought, squeezing Irene just a little tighter, her arm already secured around her waist. _Her waist._

 

– Because strawberries. And peach.

 

 _Oh god,_ Irene shrieks in her head, realizing the bump of Tiffany’s collarbone beneath her lips, the scent of sweet fruits wafting through her senses, disabling them entirely and rendering her limbs immobile.

 

“If I had known you liked hugging so much I would’ve hugged you every time I saw you,” Tiffany says, the movement of her jaw nudging gently against the crown of Irene’s head. “You’re like the shy plushy waiting to be cuddled –“ Irene winces at Tiffany’s shrill squeak, the older woman cooing as if the image in her head fits perfectly. “You’re so adorable Joohyun!”

 

Irene smiles despite the intimacy (despite the fact that Tiffany had conjured up her own version of her in a matter of seconds – it’s close enough), the way their hands are circled over each other, their legs tangled beneath the blankets.

 

Tiffany nuzzles the top of her head, various mutters of _“Adorable,” “Cute,” “Cuddly,”_ leaving the older woman’s lips in succession, her words breathing through her scalp, past her mind, and into Irene’s heart, welling up mountains of affection for the older woman’s childish behavior.

 

Irene wouldn’t have considered Tiffany to be this… endearing. Tiffany has this way of making the moment feel special – feel like nothing’s wrong or out of place, without letting the underlying awkwardness (that they both know are there) rise up to protrude the air in tight ripples of choking tension.

 

Tiffany has a way of making people feel like they’ve known each other all along, and Irene has to admit, as she laughs along with Tiffany, nuzzling deeper into her neck, breathing her in and ignoring the way her mind is telling her that she’s _the sunbaenim, what are you doing,_ it’s comforting.

 

They stay like that for the next hour or so, though Irene’s not entirely sure, under the warmth of rumpled sheets, molding heat between their skin, as Irene listens to Tiffany just _breathe._ Her hands tighten their grip on Tiffany’s pink sweater, fingers curling over the material on her back.

 

Irene doesn’t want to let this moment go.

 

They share the silence together, allowing peace to flit by in rays of jagged sunlight, puddles of shimmering sun pooling over them in the quiet normally not found in the busy streets of Seoul.

 

She doesn’t forget the way her lips are still tingling in memory of Tiffany’s heartbeats, can still feel it drumming against her flesh like phantom hands, caressing the edges and embedding the rhythm permanently – leaving no mark behind except its pattern.

 

Irene pretends it doesn’t bother her, pretends it doesn’t tug at her chest, scratching at the walls and peeling off the pillars of admiration and replacing it with something else – something raw and hot and scathing and _wanting._

 

Tiffany hums against her head, the sound akin to relief and contentment – like she’s happy for just being here, snuggling with her. It twists something inside and Irene squeezes her eyes shut – as if to quell the feral emotion rising up her throat.

 

Irene pretends she doesn’t recognize the desire to kiss Tiffany’s skin again, even when her lips are already painting her _want_ across Tiffany’s collarbone in fleeting heat – it’s not on purpose.

 

She lets it repeat in her head, again and again, until she’s convinced it’s true.

 

_… It’s not on purpose._

 

/

 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would’ve mistaken your face for that heart eyes emoji with the way you look at people.” Tiffany says casually, twirling the spoon in her cup of coffee.

 

Irene nearly topples her drink, choking on the liquid still lodged in her throat. Tiffany leans over so she could pat her back in both embarrassment and as an apology, helping the younger girl settle her cup safely on the table.

 

The Red Velvet member coughs the remaining slithers of water out of her mouth, covering it with a hand and sending Tiffany a bewildered look – wide eyes and disbelieving.

 

Tiffany shrugs, settling back down in her seat across from her.

 

“It’s true; whenever we watch your group interviews or music shows, you’re the only member that… well, looks at people the way you do.”

 

“… The way I do?” Irene parrots, eyes immediately drawn to watching Tiffany drink her cup of coffee, watches the way her throat moves to swallow, imagining the stream of liquid sweeping down past her neck.

 

Irene swallows instinctively as Tiffany sets her cup aside, keenly aware of the heat rising up her chest again, over her arms, and through her legs. Her heart is pounding hard against her eardrums.

 

She’s afraid to know why she’s suddenly hot and _very,_ verybothered.

 

Irene pushes the thought away, ignores the itch to feel Tiffany’s skin beneath her touch and focuses on the task at hand.

 

She’s vaguely aware of what Tiffany’s referring to. Her members had mentioned it once before – how she seems to stare, _“Are you trying to read my soul, unnie? I hope you find Satan in there,”_ but just like how Sooyoung – _Joy,_ had so eloquently put it, Irene finds truth in it, even as a joke.

 

Irene just didn’t think it was worth noticing.

 

“Yeah,” Tiffany stares out through the window, the dim sky casting various hues of red and orange, streams of yellow fading into the edges of the landscape. “It’s not bad – just curious. You sometimes look so lost in it, like you’re far away.” Tiffany plays with the rim of her cup, running a finger over its edges. “What do you think about when you look at someone like that?”

 

Irene diverts her gaze when Tiffany looks back at her, staring at the tiny crack near the door of the kitchen. Suddenly it’s harder to look at her, when all the images in her head flash back to tingling lips and a beating heart.

 

Irene fiddles with the ends of her sleeves, hoping it’ll help anchor her and keep her from thinking of anything else.

 

“I… well, in the beginning, I really just stare.” Her eyes crawl up to the table top, following Tiffany’s finger circle the rim of her cup. “Then I’d think, ‘Will they be okay? Can they handle it? How can I help from here?’ and things like that, especially for interviews.” Irene mutters, hearing the rest of her family laugh at a drama in the living room and it makes the corners of her mouth curve upwards. “But now, when we’re getting used to everything – that I don’t have to worry so much anymore, I look at their stories.”

 

Tiffany tilts her head, ebony hair falling over her shoulder. “Stories?”

 

When Irene’s gaze flits up and meets those big brown eyes, the red seeps into her ears again, coloring heat across delicate skin. She’s thankful for long hair, drawing curtains over them to shield herself from Tiffany’s curious scrutiny.

 

Irene looks away, traveling to red lips. It’s the same deep hue of red the day Tiffany came by.

 

“When I look long enough, I see stories.” Irene doesn’t know why her eyes stay there, studying at the rose color like it keeps her chained in thorns without pain. “…And then I read them,” it comes out in murmurs, biting her lip like it quenches her throat for the picture of red still tainting her mind.

 

Irene doesn’t even notice she’s staring until Tiffany motions closer, pressing a thumb against her bottom lip, easing her teeth from gnawing the flesh.

 

“Careful,” Tiffany says, rubbing gentle circles until Irene finally loosens her grip. “Wouldn’t want your fans to be worried now, would you?”

 

Irene nods dumbly, frozen at Tiffany’s deliberate touch, her skin scorching even when Tiffany finally lets go. Tiffany ushers her to continue with smiling eyes and Irene can feel her cheeks flare at the sight.

 

Pulling auburn strands so it covers a decent portion of her face, Irene mumbles behind them, quiet enough so Tiffany doesn’t hear the nerves in her voice, and loud enough so she won’t have to repeat herself. Hopefully.

 

“… When I look at Seulgi, I see tall bears eating tangerines. They’re happy, most of the time.” Irene knows it sounds weird as soon as it leaves her mouth, peering up to watch Tiffany smile. It encourages her. “Yellow and orange color her eyes, staying bright even when things get hard.”

 

Tiffany hums, and Irene continues on, picturing her members in her head.

 

“Sooyoung – _Joy,_ she’s a rebel. I see fire, lava, horns, and tails.” Irene almost laughs at the way Tiffany looks surprised, brows raised at the imagery but Irene dismisses the concern with a wave of her hand. “But I also see green cotton balls and sweet cake. Sweet, _giant,_ cake.” Tiffany’s laugh echoes in her ears, and it’s delightful.

 

“Seulgi and Sooyoung are pretty tall, aren’t they,” Tiffany says and Irene merely hums, her eyes flickering back to Tiffany’s lips once in awhile. _So red,_

 

“Yerim has purple clouds, usually, but at times they turn grey, and that’s when I know she needs me.” Irene snaps up at Tiffany’s movement, watches the older woman bring her drink to her lips again.

 

Irene stares at the box of cookies Tiffany had brought with her on the countertop by the sink, hoping the container of sweets keeps her eyes away from the liquid she knows is traveling down smooth skin.

 

“With Seungwan – I see snow; soft, sparkly, and cold. I know she’s lonely, especially when she doesn’t have any schedules.” Irene’s voice falls quieter, knowing the girl’s currently back at the dorm. The short break the company had given them was too short for Wendy to travel all the way back home to Canada. “Seungwan bakes so she won’t think about it. I make sure she doesn’t feel far from home,”

 

Tiffany’s smile reaches her eyes, the warmth spilling through her teeth like waterfalls, her grin wide and proud. Irene doesn’t realize she’s meeting her gaze until the older woman looms closer, leans in so their hands can touch and Irene feels Tiffany’s fingers curl over hers.

 

“You’re a good leader,” Tiffany says, and Irene can feel confidence rise in her chest. “Just like Tae-Tae. Quiet, careful – always behind the scenes.” Circles are being drawn on her skin, Tiffany’s finger as the brush for her blank canvas. “You’ll do great,”

 

Irene hides behind her brown hair, trying to suppress the blush clawing its way up her already burning face. She only nods, showing she’s grateful by the way she squeezes Tiffany’s hand, curling their fingers together.

 

“Thanks, sunbaenim.” _She’s nice._

 

Irene misses the way Tiffany pouts, not when her eyes can’t seem to leave Tiffany’s all of a sudden. There are swirls of colors and fleeting pictures, hazy like fog, but bright like neon lights.

 

Tiffany motions closer, and Irene can feel her breath ghost over her lips.

 

“What about me?” Irene squints, Tiffany’s words falling slowly in her ears, fading away at the image piecing together. “What do you see when you look at me?”

 

The picture mars her mind. Irene lies through frozen lips.

 

“Lots and lots of pink sheep,” she breathes out like she’s breathless, choking on ropes of thorns squeezing and prodding at her chest.

 

Tiffany laughs – practically guffaws in her chair as her head tilts back, and Irene wants to join her. But her mouth clicks shut and the gears in her head goes on overdrive – whirring away even when her mother comes in and says they should help out with dinner.

 

 _Tiffany sunbaenim’s just being nice,_ Irene thinks, attempting to ease the questions in her head.

But even when they’re rolling up dough and Tiffany warns them of her being a natural disaster in the kitchen, Irene can’t erase the story she saw in Tiffany’s eyes.

 

It only feeds the desire growing in her chest, piling up in mountains of want and Irene’s afraid of how she’s _not_ terrified of it.

 

_She’s just being nice,_

Irene snaps out of her daze at Tiffany’s touch, feeling her thumb rub away at her cheek, puffs of clouds filling the lively air.

 

“Got some flour there, Joohyun.” Tiffany says, crescent moons returning her stare before going back to rolling the ball of white in her hands.

 

Irene sees it again – the picture in Tiffany’s eyes, and she knows she’s not just imagining things.

 

Her heart swells at the thought and Irene knows she should stop it.

 

/

 

“Sunbaenim?”

 

“Hm?”

 

They’re in her room again for the second and last night they’ll have together. It’s devoid of the awkward tension protruding the first evening, but Irene can feel her nerves acting up again for an entirely different reason.

 

The ringing in her ears are heavy, pounding as hard as the thrums in her chest, like it’ll break the bones keeping her together and Irene wonders why it doesn’t hurt. She’s thinking a lot of things – things like, _why, how, when?_ – and feels things like confusion, curiosity, and something feral – _animalistic._

 

Irene spots the lack of red lipstick across Tiffany’s mouth and suddenly she wants to paint it the same hue again.

 

“Can I try on your lipstick?” Irene asks. She doesn’t know what’s happening, what she’s doing – but all she knows is that instinct drives her limbs and her mind is focused on one thing.

 

Tiffany looks surprised at the request, but doesn’t question her as she flits through her bag before tossing the item to her.

 

“Like the shade?” The older woman asks and Irene nods mutely, expertly drawing over the flesh, “It’s actually brighter than I thought, but not too bad.” Tiffany hums, crossing her arms as Irene applies the final stroke. “Color me impressed. I still need a mirror to do it,”

 

Irene barely registers what Tiffany is saying except, _“Color me.”_ The motions are automatic, as if on autopilot as she chucks the lipstick back, her eyes never leaving Tiffany’s even when she shuts the door behind her.

 

Tiffany doesn’t seem bothered by her behavior, securing the item back in her bag. Irene wonders if Tiffany really hasn’t noticed the change – how her fingers no longer tremor in nerves, her lips no longer quivering of stuttered syllables, and how she’s no longer hiding behind strands of auburn.

 

Irene likes this false confidence for how it carries her – how desire turns the gears in her limbs like well oiled machinery, movements done with precision.

 

“When I look at you, sunbaenim…” Irene trails off, eyes never leaving Tiffany’s as the older woman glances back up.

 

The story is still the same.

 

A smile crinkles at the corners of her eyes, “You see pink sheep,” Tiffany chuckles, zipping up her bag before settling it down on the floor beside Irene’s nightstand.

 

The words stream out between the spaces of Irene’s teeth – trickling out of her throat and scraping the innocent air into tension like scratching lottery tickets.

 

“I see _me,_ sunbaenim.” Irene lets each syllable sink in the fog of swamp, lets it drown long enough in the silence so Tiffany can’t mishear it. “… Why do I see myself when I look at you?”

 

Tiffany stays still from where she stands, close enough so that Irene doesn’t need to yell but far enough so that Irene can see everything she does.

 

Irene’s not surprised when Tiffany attempts to dodge the question.

 

“Maybe you see me as someone similar to you?”

 

“That’s how Taeyeon sunbaenim looks at me,” Irene quips, watching Tiffany’s mouth click shut. “Yours is different,”

 

Tiffany quirks a brow, “Different how?”

 

Irene’s mind is telling her that she could back out now – back away from the entire situation because it’s all just a guess in the end; that she could just be misreading her eyes and taking Tiffany’s kindness for something else.

 

Her chest squeezes at the thought and it hurts – the pounding blaringly louder at the idea of it being anything _but_ that something else.

 

It spills over her red lips like a faucet.

 

“You look at me like you want me,”

 

Tiffany’s sharp gaze snaps up at her, her eyes widening a fraction before curving in those signature crescents Irene is learning to like so much. For a moment she hates it for it shields the older woman’s thoughts and Irene can’t read her anymore.

 

“And what do you think?” The question tells Irene nothing, but if it weren’t for the surprise lining Tiffany’s eyes a second ago, Irene would’ve assumed Tiffany wasn’t fazed at all.

 

Irene furrows her brows, playing along with the impromptu script.

 

“You’re just being nice,” Irene says, knowing she’s backtracking, but if Tiffany doesn’t want to say anything – doesn’t want to acknowledge the way the air has electricity sparking through like scattered lightning, Irene won’t push it.

 

Maybe it’s because of what she said, or how she said it, _maybe even lightning struck_ – Irene’s not really sure – but she finds herself stuck, Tiffany's gaze keeping her still against the bedroom door.

 

Before she knew it, the older girl's finger is lifting her chin and Tiffany's lips are grazing hers with every word she whispers.

 

"... Then tell me," Irene shivers from each fleeting touch of their lips, her eyes flitting down automatically to Tiffany's warm mouth. "... am I being _'just nice'_ right now, Hyun-ah?" 

 

Her knees grow weak at the way the nickname rolls off Tiffany’s supple tongue, hands gripping the front of Tiffany’s grey sweater so she won’t fall.

 

Spots of red lipstick latch onto Tiffany’s mouth, and Irene is reminded of the feral want clawing at her thrumming heart. It doesn’t help that Tiffany’s breath enters hers lungs, slipping past her teeth to her heart where it pounds even louder at the smoky caresses.

 

"... No?" Irene squeaks, her false bravado dissipating at every brief sweep of feather touches too short to be considered kisses, her simple reply grazing Tiffany's lips in return.

 

The scent of strawberries and peach invade her senses, knocks out whatever logic she has left and replaces it with a need so consuming it drives her whole.

 

She reaches up, cradling Tiffany’s cheeks in small hands and steadies her there, makes sure Tiffany won’t go anywhere.

 

No longer thinking, Irene moves on memory of Tiffany’s heart and soft skin against her mouth, pausing their game of fleeting touches for real kisses instead.

 

Irene is painting Tiffany’s lips in tender strokes of red.

 


	2. Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiffany's not quite sure when it started or even how.

Tiffany's not quite sure when it started or even how.

 

She had merely been looking for Joohyun; the youngest member of Girls' Generation was offered to give a pep talk for a batch of trainees (probably along with a list of foods to eat and amount of calorie intake necessary for a healthy and balanced diet). Tiffany had forgotten to give the younger woman her book back (a case on self reflection and personal growth) and had wanted to ask if there were any more volumes from the same author.

 

Joohyun had always been the best when it came to finding good books on character development; she had an eye for meaningful words written between lines of black and white; Tiffany wouldn't have been able to tell the difference between two books that spoke of the same thing.

 

(Joohyun had been adamant that the one written by some author with an H in their name had no idea what they were actually talking about; Tiffany hadn't bothered to question her about such 'hate', only hearing the younger girl mutter about politics before she immediately zoned out. Too complicated.)

 

“Hey,” Tiffany had greeted a familiar coach who smiled her way, “is Joohyun here?”

 

The woman nodding her head was enough incentive for Tiffany to start sifting through her bag as the trainer called for her.

 

“Joohyun! Over here!”

 

Tiffany's fingers managed to grasp at the familiar texture of laminated paper and began to pull it out as Joohyun shuffled towards her, catching slivers of familiar raven hair from the corner of her eyes.

 

“Hey, is there more from this guy?” Tiffany asked as she cradled the book in her other hand, zipping her bag to a close. “He's got a great sense of humor; it's no wonder you're improving yours—”

 

“Sunbaenim?” Someone spoke; so tiny, soft – even delicate. It felt like a feather.

 

Tiffany's mouth stuttered to a pause, as if the gears grew weak at a voice that was supposed to be Joohyun's but wasn't.

 

“…Hyun?” She finished dully, the single syllable ending with a squeak – finally looking up from her half zipped bag to see unfamiliar pools of brown looking as lost as she felt.

 

Tiffany wonders if that was how it started – calling out the wrong Joohyun; it had certainly been one of her many long lists of mistakes that she knew she'd love to make again.

 

She remembers the girl had been shy at her dazed expression, looking down with her hands behind her back, her greeting almost inaudible if it weren't for her moving her head closer to hear better.

 

“H-Hi, sunbaenim. Um, I heard you were looking for me...?”

 

Tiffany swore her lungs gave out the moment the girl looked back up at her. She couldn't bring herself to tell her that she wasn't; that she was looking for an entirely different Joohyun.

 

So Tiffany improvised.

 

“Oh! Um – yes, indeed I was!”

 

She wanted to slap herself for sounding horribly out of character, cringing at her lame tongue and hurried to make due with what she got.

 

This Joohyun was cute, how she tilted her head, her forehead creased with beads of sweat and damp strands of ebony, undoubtedly as a result of dance practice.

 

Tiffany cleared her throat.

 

“I just, uh, want to – er, congratulate you!”

 

“Congratulate me...?”

 

Tiffany wanted to bury herself several feet under from where she stood, her brain dizzy from wracking for an explanation that would convince this girl (and herself) that this was no mistake.

 

“Yes! For working very hard – yup!”

 

She nodded enthusiastically for emphasis, cringing behind her lips at the poor, very poor, excuse her mouth blabbed out.

 

When she noticed this Joohyun merely smile, as if unsure, Tiffany grabbed her hands and shoved the book there, hoping it'd add more value to her horrible lie.

 

“That's why I'm lending you this – it's a great read on self-reflection. You'll be even better than you already are!”

 

Oh god.

 

It was hard to pretend like they knew each other when this was the very first time they’ve ever met.

 

Tiffany didn't wait for this Joohyun to respond, quickly bowing before hastily gesturing to the coach that she was taking her leave.

 

Tiffany couldn't handle the trainee's big innocent eyes anymore; they looked so naive and attentive and even childlike that had she lingered any longer, Tiffany would've probably hugged her to death.

 

Stumbling out into the hallway, catching her breath, Tiffany dared to take a quick glance back only to feel pink dust her cheeks, the warmth crawling up her neck.

 

The wrong Joohyun had caught her eyes, sent her a small timid smile along with a shy wave, the book in her hand, that the sight nearly got Tiffany to squeal out of glee if not for the actual Joohyun bumping her ribs with her pointy elbow.

 

“Ow.”

 

Girls' Generation's Joohyun giggled beside her.

 

“I heard you were looking for me, unnie?”

 

Tiffany suddenly remembered that the book wasn't hers to give.

 

“Oh right, um, about your book...”

 

That day, Tiffany spent an hour convincing Joohyun that she would get it back, though the younger woman didn't seem all that bothered since someone else would learn the value of self-improvement books.

 

Tiffany remembers glancing back through the little window of the door right before she left, breath getting stuck in her throat at the sight of the other Joohyun midway through her dance steps.

 

Despite bumping into the wrong Joohyun, she was definitely just as beautiful.

 

/

 

The second time she met that trainee with the same name, Tiffany hadn't been looking for Girls' Generation's Joohyun.

 

She had been busy practicing, her voice having begun to feel strained that Tiffany decided to take a break, resting against the wall of the vocal practice room, water bottle in hand.

 

Tiffany had shut her eyes, allowed her lungs to breathe in oxygen at a steadier pace, and reveled in the quiet. It was peaceful; the silence was calming and Tiffany cherished it as much as the euphoric high she'd feel on stage.

 

Until the door creaked open and Tiffany was startled to a jolt at the familiar sound of soft velvet.

 

“O-Oh sorry, sunbaenim,” It was the other Joohyun, her adorable squeak of surprise and wide eyes a cute picture Tiffany couldn't look away from at all. “I'll just go somewhere else...”

 

“No, it's okay!”

 

Tiffany had been quick to tug Joohyun back with an encouraging smile and light sheepish laughter. She never realized how fast she had gotten up to grasp the younger girl's wrist until her warmth began to meld beneath her palm.

 

She still remembers how Joohyun had turned a timid pink.

 

“I was just resting, you know, 'cause it's quieter here.” Tiffany urged Joohyun in, throwing a playful wink too. “I'm sure you're here for that reason too.”

 

“I – um, yes...”

 

Tiffany grinned, pulling Joohyun to sit next to her, amused at the trainee's shy obedience. She had probably forgotten to sign in the time sheet for the practice room before she went in; oh well, at least her mistake meant another accidental run in with Joohyun.

 

“Let's sleep together then!”

 

Tiffany hadn't noticed the implication until Joohyun burned a brighter red, her face hiding behind strands of ebony like curtains to a theater of feelings.

 

She was about to fix her mistake, clear up the confusion until Joohyun mumbled beneath her breath, fiddling nervous fingers with her sleeves.

 

“...But I'm sweaty...”

 

Tiffany tried really, really, _really,_ hard not to squeal at Joohyun attempting to comb her hair back, meek hands wiping off beads of exhaustion from her pretty, very pretty, face.

 

She laughed, patting Joohyun's leg to reassure her, before standing up again, winking down at Joohyun's curious gaze blinking up at her.

 

“Then let's take care of that.”

 

“Huh?”

 

Tiffany had grabbed her towel off the back of a chair (thank goodness she hadn't used it yet; vocal exercises didn't really call for much physical exertion like dancing did) before settling back down beside the trainee again, offering the pink cloth.

 

Joohyun, as expected of a typical junior, attempted to reject her.

 

“N-No it's okay, sunbaenim! I have one of my own...”

 

“Then where is it?”

 

“...In my locker...”

 

She clicked her tongue, nudging Joohyun with a gentle elbow and a reassuring smile. Trainees always were much more tougher to crack in terms of breaking the ice.

 

Tiffany cherished their innocent curiosity and ambition for dreams; she could relate.

 

“Which is a floor below us,” she said, tapping Joohyun's chin to lead her gaze back up towards her. “All the more reason to take this.”

 

“But—”

 

“And if you don't want to feel like you owe me anything,” Tiffany continued on, lifting the towel to swipe at a bead over Joohyun's cheek; smirking at the trainee's cute blush. “Lend me yours. Then we'll be even.”

 

Truth be told, she didn't have any ulterior motive behind the words she had said, but as soon as they left her mouth to ring through the air and echo into her own ears, Tiffany realized just how sly it could sound.

 

She wasn't expecting to be the type to take back so many syllables as soon as they had left her throat (she was always satisfied with what to say), but ever since she encountered this Joohyun, she had been wanting to pull strings back as soon as they had come undone.

 

But Tiffany couldn't when Joohyun beat her to it, timidly nodding, as if to not hinder Tiffany's careful patting of the cloth on her cheek.

 

“...Okay.”

 

Tiffany's smile had painted her face then, cooing as she massaged the towel over the slopes of Joohyun's forehead, pushing back slick strands of ebony.

 

She could practically feel the way Joohyun shifted, like her touch was foreign (it truly was, all things considered) and attempted to help the trainee relax in her presence, letting the gears run in her head of topics they could discuss.

 

“Looking forward to debuting?”

 

Joohyun appeared relieved at the cue for common ground, her eyes no longer straying away from her own.

 

“Ah, yes. The members are set already, so we've just been preparing.”

 

“Nervous to be on stage?”

 

Joohyun hummed, twiddling with her fingers as Tiffany curled Joohyun's hair back to wipe at her neck, patting gently.

 

She was almost as pale as Taeyeon, her skin a creamy white.

 

“...Yes,” Joohyun paused, “but I wouldn't want that feeling to go away either, because it's more precious that way.”

 

“'Precious?'“

 

A nod.

 

“I'm nervous because I care enough to think about what I could do to show my best.” Joohyun's gaze flickered towards her, a quiet strength embedded through them. “Isn't that what makes something precious?”

 

Out of all the things Tiffany had experienced in life (and she had experienced a lot – the good, the bad, and the really, really, ugly), it was always a trainee's point of view that could color perspective of achieving dreams better than anything else.

 

Trainees were right at the core of it all; tasting that little bit of sweet success that they were good enough to be considered, yet failure would always crawl along behind to remind them that they may not last.

 

Mentality was key and Joohyun's was superb.

 

To think a trainee cherished the feeling of nervousness – Tiffany wondered if wisdom bled often out of Joohyun's mouth.

 

“Will you be leading the group?”

 

Joohyun had looked surprised then, jerking slightly as if Tiffany's question had sent a spark against her skin.

 

“H-How did you know?”

 

Tiffany grinned, tapping Joohyun's nose before patting the towel carefully on her eyelids, watching the trainee instinctively shut her eyes.

 

“You sound like a leader.”

 

Joohyun's cheeks had begun to flush again, grinning at the pink coloring pale skin; how cute.

 

“Oh, um, they said it was because I'm the oldest, so...”

 

“Even better,” Tiffany quipped, not missing the way Joohyun had sounded insecure about her age. “You're wise and have the authority to lead – I think that's a good thing.”

 

“But I'm too shy,” Joohyun muttered, staring down at her lap. “I'm too quiet. I'm not outspoken like the others—”

 

“And neither is Tae, but look what happened; she now leads the nation's number one girl group.” Tiffany winked, not at all used to tooting her own horn but it was a label that Korea had given them. “What makes you think you can't do the same?”

 

Joohyun had looked at her then, a searching gaze that had locked Tiffany's breath behind her throat, hushing her tongue for the umpteenth time. This trainee had quite the hold on her; Tiffany couldn't tell why.

 

Maybe it was because Joohyun's silence mimicked an old friend's.

 

And then Joohyun smiled this small smile, shy but grateful, and it made Tiffany vaguely aware of something frighteningly warm in her chest.

 

“Thank you, sunbaenim.”

 

Tiffany had heard a lot of “Thank you’s” in her lifetime; she had said it often herself, at photoshoots, practices, guestings on shows, at PDs and managers, hairstylists, and coordinators.

 

She had often heard it from grateful trainees and juniors, showing their appreciation with starry eyes and happy smiles.

 

But Joohyun's shouldn't have been any different; her vocal appreciation was just as much of a typical template as anyone else's.

 

Maybe it was in the way Joohyun had on this meek gaze and the small curve of her lips, how ebony curtained over the slope of her brow to the slender contours of her shoulder.

 

Or maybe Tiffany was just being biased because either way, Joohyun locked her breath behind her mouth, silenced her tongue and caught her eyes to merely stare at timid beauty.

 

Tiffany couldn't help herself.

 

Squealing, she pulled Joohyun in for a hug, unable to keep her giddiness at bay; Joohyun was just so adorable.

 

“You're so cute, Hyun-ah!”

 

The nickname rolled off her tongue as if it was waiting to be said.

 

/

 

Tiffany remembers learning of Joohyun's – no, not that Seo Joo Hyun, selected group mates for their debut.

 

Park Sooyoung wasn't hard to miss; she was the tallest and therefore Tiffany had no problem spotting her amidst the rest of trainees in a crowd.

 

Kang Seulgi was a girl Tiffany had known of for years, considering she had spent the longest in their company to train. Tiffany felt pride swell at the thought of all her efforts finally having paid off.

 

Son Seungwan – Wendy, Tiffany had learned, was the easiest to make conversations with. The ease of slipping into English tongue helped plenty, and her lively nature complemented her own; there was no problem in building up excitement whenever they bumped into each other in the halls.

 

Bae Joohyun was as quiet as ever, though Tiffany knew the girl was much more comfortable with her now, considering she no longer needed to hide behind her ebony hair and timid fingers.

 

“You'll do well, I know it.” Tiffany had said, smiling at the way Wendy trembled with anticipation, her hair dyed in half blue.

 

She didn't know they'd be coloring their hair for their debut; Tiffany briefly wondered what Joohyun's would be.

 

“Thanks, unnie.”

 

Wendy had embraced her, before waving goodbye to meet up with her manager.

 

Tiffany had considered looking for Joohyun, partially curious to see how the trainee was handling their preparations for their debut, when she spotted a flicker of pink.

 

It was like neon, bright and bold; the color had Tiffany mesmerized. Excitement jerked into her legs, and before she knew it, Tiffany found herself weaving through the crowd of backstage handlers and makeup staff for that flicker of pink.

 

Tiffany had promised to herself that anything pink belonged to her alone, and this was no exception.

 

She sifted through corridors, smiled quickly at fellow coworkers, and nearly bumped into a racket of clothes being wheeled in, before Tiffany finally got to reach that fleeting bright pink.

 

It didn't take long for her to realize that whoever had dyed their hair pink was a member of their company's newest girl group.

 

Tiffany knew that this person in particular, simply for the color in their hair, would undoubtedly be her favorite member for this debut. Her eyes wouldn't be able to look anywhere else.

 

“That shade of pink is amazing,” Tiffany said, grinning at the way her junior jumped from where she stood. “I should dye my hair like that too, one day.”

 

Her giggles didn't last long though when the trainee turned around, her jaw going slack at the realization that Joohyun looked absolutely stunning in pink.

 

“S-Sunbaenim!”

 

Tiffany almost cursed at the way her heart leapt to her throat, blocking words from reaching her tongue to spill a coherent response. She wanted to say “Hi” or “Hello again” or something, but nothing could leave her mouth. Not when her lungs were emptied of air and Joohyun looked ethereal in that black and pink jersey outfit.

 

Tiffany knew then that she had found her favorite member in Red Velvet.

 

She wanted to consider that it was all the pink to blame, but half her mind was still reeling at the fact that Joohyun looked beautiful in anything she wore.

 

“Is something wrong, sunbaenim?”

 

Tiffany jolted at Joohyun's touch, the younger girl's hand warm against her forearm.

 

Bright pools of brown that were so similar to everyone else's peered up at her; there was something different though – Joohyun's eyes had her enraptured.

 

“N-No, not at all.” Tiffany winced at her stutter, embarrassed that a trainee could make a Girls’ Generation's member flustered. “I just got distracted by all the pink.”

 

Joohyun blinked at her for a moment, before she giggled, her eyes hiding away into crescent moons that Tiffany thought to be Joohyun’s most prized possession – and handy weapon.

 

Joohyun's smiling eyes had her wrapped up entirely that Tiffany feared she would never want to get out.

 

“Of course,” Joohyun said, taking a strand of hair dipped in Tiffany's favorite color between slim fingers. “Pink is still your favorite, right sunbaenim?”

 

Tiffany managed to choke out a “Yes” between bouts of coughs masquerading the blush welling up her cheeks. Pink was still her favorite, no doubt there, but paired with Joohyun? _Even better._

Tiffany could only flush at the thought she had nearly spluttered out for the trainee to hear.

 

Joohyun glanced past her, waving at someone who had called her name. Tiffany had no time to say anything else when Joohyun clutched her arm, squeezing gently.

 

“I still have to film my part,” Joohyun smiled at her, taking away the rest of the breath still stuck in her throat. “I'll see you next time, okay sunbaenim?”

 

Tiffany mustered up a nod, returning her smile with a grin she felt blooming even in her chest – a sense of happiness settling there, before raising a fist to cheer Joohyun on.

 

When Joohyun left, her back growing smaller, fading between the crowds of people Tiffany suddenly couldn't place, she memorized the way dips of neon pink fluttered with each step.

 

Tiffany was all too aware of a warmth crawling up her chest, as if to stay. Pretending there was nothing squirming inside, Tiffany hurried after her, excitement shooting through her veins at the thought of watching Joohyun behind the scenes for her first ever music video.

 

She made it a point to cheer on for the other members too, especially when Wendy started to tease her about only having eyes for Joohyun.

 

Tiffany made sure to blame it all on the pink.

 

/

 

Joohyun became someone Tiffany looked for between practices, gaze flitting for that particular junior (she couldn't call Joohyun a trainee anymore) whenever she caught a break.

 

She found herself often hoping that their schedules coincide, energy springing with each step when Joohyun's group happened to be at the salon, too; 1 AM appointment be damned.

 

But at most, they settled for quick greetings, painted with shy smiles and little waves, before Tiffany would get caught in the rush of getting her hair and makeup done.

 

It was never anything more than that, fleeting goodbyes spilling between each member along with a cheer for good luck. No one ever knew whether a broadcast would go over well; better to be safe than sorry.

 

Tiffany tended to coo whenever she found the two Joohyun's hugging their goodbyes. She recalls how awkward they had been together, but once that had passed, they became knots that couldn't come untied.

 

It took one morning on a schedule-free Saturday when Tiffany decided to message Joohyun; her group's wisest member.

 

_(Hey, you're friends with Joohyun now, right?)_

Sender: Tiffany

Sent: 8:20:12 AM

Sent: 08/06/15

 

_(Yes, unnie. Why?)_

Sender: Seororo

Sent: 8:20:50 AM

Sent: 08/06/15

 

_(How did you do it?)_

Sender: Tiffany

Sent: 8:21:05 AM

Sent: 08/06/15

 

_(What do you mean? Aren't you two already friends, unnie?)_

Sender: Seororo

Sent: 8:21:47 AM

Sent: 08/06/15

 

Tiffany admits they were close enough to say “Hi” or “Bye” or “Did you eat yet”, but she wouldn't consider that friendship. Sure, they had spent some alone time together once, in a vocal practice room – but that was purely coincidental, because she had been there to practice and Joohyun came in to rest. It didn't count.

 

Neither did the accidental mishap of calling for the wrong Joohyun.

 

_(Not really?)_

Sender: Tiffany

Sent: 8:22:10 AM

Sent: 08/06/15

 

It had been difficult to catch Joohyun alone – especially now that she debuted and they both had schedules to meet. But searching for time couldn't really be the problem either, when she had easily made friends with the rest of her members. They had been particularly vocal of being Girls' Generation's fans, and their giddiness only made it that much more easier to talk to them.

 

Joohyun's silence was a little nerve-racking, especially when it resembled a member who was no longer with them.

 

“Aren't you a little too quiet, sunbaenim?”

 

Tiffany remembers jumping up at the sound of that signature voice, soft-spoken but louder than a bell, ringing into her ears and drumming against her chest.

 

Red Velvet's Joohyun was smiling at her, a book in her hand, gesturing her to take it.

 

“I'm sorry I took so long to finish it, but it was really good. I think I've learned a little bit more about myself.”

 

Tiffany took note of Joohyun's attire: black Nike tights, shoes, along with a tank-top; the towel hanging over her neck should've been a dead giveaway, but Tiffany still couldn't help but ask.

 

“Heading to the gym?”

 

Once she took the book back, Joohyun readjusted her hold on her duffel bag, a shy smile having played along her lips.

 

“Yes, it's my day-off so I thought I should make use of it.”

 

Tiffany recognized an opportunity when she was offered one; so she took it.

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

/

 

Huffs of breaths and the soft whir of the treadmills cascaded along the walls of the gym.

 

Tiffany was particularly confident in running. Despite her short legs (at least, compared to the taller half of her group mates), she still had enough endurance to push them past their limits.

 

Joohyun had been quiet next to her, or as quiet as she could be, focused on her own run. Tiffany dared not to stare, especially knowing how much of a bother it was when others did during her workouts.

 

Though it was a little hard to ignore the awkwardness that still floated over them.

 

“You're doing pretty well, sunbaenim.”

 

Joohyun slipped in a sentence that didn't betray any sign of exhaustion. It was a little surprising, but from the small smile on Joohyun's mouth, Tiffany knew it was her way of breaking the ice.

 

“Of course,” Tiffany returned it with a grin, “I wouldn't be able to handle the idol life if I couldn't.”

 

Joohyun's laughter was divine, amidst the noise of a whistling treadmill and the soft thuds of their feet against a rolling surface. It was kind of nice.

 

They talked about other things: how their debut stages went, the feelings that overwhelmed them once the lights dimmed in the comfort of their own dorms, the relief of finally getting through training. They conversed long enough that Tiffany had almost forgotten that they had been jogging the entire time.

 

“I heard you love games a lot,” Tiffany began a new topic once they had finished sharing details about Wendy's large admiration for Taeyeon. “Or at least, where there's something to win.”

 

Joohyun's puffs for breaths had gotten a little louder, just enough to indicate that she was gradually reaching her limit. Tiffany had felt her own chest start to weigh in too, her breathing growing heavier.

 

“I do. I like winning.” She said between huffs, a grin curving her lips. “Don't you?”

 

Tiffany was a little surprised at the image; she had gotten used to Joohyun's innocent naivety that the competitive confidence had her reeling a bit in shock. She made sure her legs kept up with the steady pace, pretending she didn't nearly stumble, raising a brow in return.

 

“Winning would be nice.”

 

“Are you up for a challenge then, sunbaenim?” There was a spark in Joohyun's eyes, equivalent to the times Soonkyu would look at them before she'd slap their bottoms out of childish affection.

 

Tiffany ignored the shudder that crept down her spine.

 

“What do you have in mind?”

 

Maybe Joohyun had gotten a little bolder during their conversation, watching her reach over to her panel to press the button to increase the incline and speed. Tiffany was quick to readjust herself, catching Joohyun giggle.

 

“Let's up the incline and speed every two minutes,” Joohyun said, increasing hers to match their pace. “And see who lasts the longest.”

 

Tiffany had no idea what had gotten Joohyun ecstatic for it, but she couldn't really complain when Joohyun's eyes beamed with excitement – shimmering enough to have Tiffany almost trip over her own two feet, again. Even if she knew this could very well end with sore legs, Tiffany didn't mind as long as she could have the gleam in Joohyun's eyes stay a little longer.

 

“What's the prize?” There was a smirk curving the corners of Tiffany's lips, “Because I'm letting you know now that it'll be mine.”

 

Joohyun scoffed. “Not likely,”

 

“Are you sure?” Tiffany almost laughed at Joohyun's rolling eyes, “Because I know I'm a winner.”

 

“Lunch.” Joohyun said, “Winner gets free food.”

 

Tiffany hummed. Free food was definitely not a bad prize. But it was lacking something. She needed more incentive than a meal to bother working herself out this much.

 

A grin curled along her mouth at the thought.

 

“Call me 'unnie'.”

 

Tiffany shot out an arm as soon as she spotted Joohyun nearly toppling over the treadmill, helping her steady herself with a grip on her forearm, laughter already leaving her mouth at Joohyun's stumbling. Her cheeks had colored a wonderful pink.

 

How cute.

 

“W-What?” Joohyun was back to keeping up with her rhythm.

 

“If I win, I want you to call me 'unnie'.” Tiffany sent her a wink just for good measure, giggling when Joohyun's cheeks only flared a brighter pink – the color definitely suited her. “What do you want if you win?”

 

Joohyun had fallen silent, except for the constant thrumming of their feet against the moving surface, the machines' soft whirring drumming along her ears.

 

“If I win, I'll stick with calling you 'sunbaenim'. Along with free food.”

 

Through the brief conversations they had between passing each other by in dressing rooms, to rehearsals and practices, Tiffany had learned that Joohyun was a bit of a stickler when it came to respect. It was a great thing of course. Who didn't want to be considered with the utmost respect?

 

Tiffany smiled.

 

“You're on.”

 

But somehow, when it came to Joohyun, she wanted more than a junior's lovely respect.

 

/

 

Tiffany didn't win.

 

“Here, sunbaenim.”

 

A towel was shoved in front of her, along with a bottle of water. The items weren't foreign to Tiffany, not really, they just didn't belong to her. Joohyun was lending her things and Tiffany was never great at receiving help. It had taken years for her to get used to Taeyeon's; what more with a junior she still barely knew?

 

“Oh, no it's okay—”

 

“Please.” Paired with pleading eyes, Tiffany already knew there was no chance. “Let me return the favor, okay?”

 

With one soft smile sent her way, Tiffany was done for.

 

“Okay, okay.”

 

She was grateful for the drink and towel, even though she had her own tucked in her gym bag, eyeing Joohyun's relieved sigh. Joohyun seemed like the type to dislike owing someone back; or at least, not too keen on remaining in someone else's debt.

 

Their childish competition didn't last for very long; especially not when Tiffany found herself getting distracted by the sweat that cascaded along Joohyun's skin, and the panting breaths they had shared. It was a mess – just enough to have Tiffany convinced that she shouldn't be thinking of something so dirty, and called it quits.

 

“One day,” Tiffany started, attempting to pass her water bottle to Joohyun, unsurprised of the rejection with a small wave. “I'll get you to call me 'unnie'.”

 

Joohyun chuckled, the sound soft, as if velvet lined the notes in her voice. It erased the exhaustion in Tiffany's legs momentarily, no longer feeling much of the burning pain when Joohyun looked her way.

 

“Maybe when you finally win, sunbaenim.”

 

Tiffany felt encouraged to protest, argue that it wouldn't be long before she'd win at something, but when she felt a gentle tap on her forehead, the words paused behind her throat.

 

Joohyun was smiling. “I have to go. I'll see you around?”

 

Like magic, Tiffany was spellbound, mouth stuck agape. Nothing came out, barely managing to nod. She'd rather stay silent just so she could listen to the way Joohyun giggled at her, before she turned to leave, waving over her shoulder.

 

It wasn’t until Joohyun disappeared behind gaggles of other people that Tiffany realized she still had Joohyun's towel and water bottle; and the fact that she owed Joohyun a free meal.

 

All the more reason to see her again.

 

Tiffany chuckled once her breathing returned from its sudden pause, looping her bag over her shoulder.

 

For someone who lost, she certainly didn't feel like she did.

 

/

 

Timing hadn't been all that nice since then.

 

Suddenly they both became too busy, Girls' Generation coming back with multiple title songs. There hadn't been much rest between Party, Lion Heart, and You Think.

 

Promotions were nice; it had been fun guesting on shows they haven't been on before, especially when the emcees weren't breathing down their throats with typical boring questions. Dancing to their songs in random order had been exhilarating – Tiffany made sure to remind their group's dance line of their failures when it came to formations.

 

Red Velvet's been busy preparing for their own promotions, managing to only catch brief glimpses of Joohyun in the hallway. Even Wendy, who was usually accommodating with making time to hang out, had been preoccupied to the point of settling for text messages instead.

 

So when Tiffany heard of Red Velvet's brief vacation before their comeback, she made sure not to miss it.

_(Hey, what was Joohyun's home address in Daegu again?)_

Sender: Tiffany

Sent: 7:10:39 AM

Sent: 08/27/15

 

As soon as Wendy texted her the place, along with a curious “Why?” Tiffany had set out to finally return Joohyun's things and pay for that free meal, replying with an: “I owe her something” and leaving it at that.

 

But it wasn’t until she already spent a night with Joohyun (and will be spending another, maybe) that Tiffany realizes she has yet to fulfill a longtime debt and proper return of Joohyun's things, registering that she still has Joohyun pinned against her bedroom door.

 

Her thoughts no longer reeled memory films in her head, tasting vanilla on Joohyun's lips, along with a mix of strawberries that Tiffany's accustomed to wearing on her own mouth.

 

_Oh god._

 

“S-Sorry!”

 

Tiffany yelps as soon as her mind clears, jolting back, recalling that yes, Joohyun is still her junior – and that she shouldn't really be kissing her at all.

 

_(“Am I being 'just nice' right now, Hyun-ah?”)_

 

She should run. Seriously. Maybe go dig a hole somewhere not too far from here out on the countryside – at least then she could help out with the crops, have herself be additional fertilizer.

 

“...Sunbaenim?”

 

However quiet Joohyun's voice could be, it's still resoundingly loud enough that it makes Tiffany's heart jump, as if it was about to burst out of her ribcage. She's wary of looking back at deep brown eyes she's gotten used to sinking into, swallowing hard when she finally meets Joohyun's gaze, but not without taking a few steps away; allow distance to keep them apart.

 

She could still taste Joohyun on her lips.

 

“Yes?” Tiffany is thankful her voice hasn't given up on her – at least, not just yet.

 

“If that wasn't being nice,” Joohyun's brows crinkle, “then what was it?”

 

From the look on Joohyun's face, how her lips draw a thin line, eyes alight as if they haven't lost focus, Tiffany realizes Joohyun already knows the answer. It's as if all she's looking for is additional confirmation – a solid reaffirmation of a fact that is already underlined in red, and written in bold.

 

Tiffany juggles the pros and cons of acknowledging the truth – how they’d jeopardize their careers and how new Joohyun still is in the entertainment world. Joohyun's just started her dream – she still has so many years left; there was no way Tiffany would allow it to end; not this early, and not by something as selfish as believing that everything pink belongs to her.

 

She likes Joohyun a little bit more than that.

 

“It was a game.” Tiffany says, shrugging and smiling along to her excuse. “I thought you like games?”

 

Joohyun's frown is predictable, but not the steps she takes forward towards her; Tiffany's eyes widening at the distance slowly growing shorter. She's frantic to make it wider again, keep Joohyun as far away as possible, except the back of her knees bump the edge of Joohyun's mattress, forcing her backwards onto a bed she's already slept on once before.

 

There's a fierce silence associated with Joohyun, like there was a certain danger that coiled along her figure that would snap if provoked. Despite having seniority over Joohyun, Tiffany shudders at the quiet authority that naturally encases her, spilling across the air and seizing Tiffany's limbs to tremor.

 

Tiffany makes a mental note to never question why she's the leader of her respective group.

 

Joohyun's towering over her, crossed arms paired with a smile that curves into a smirk. When she bends so they're at eye level, Tiffany swears that frost colors Joohyun's voice – icy and sharp.

“The only game I like is where I win.”

 

Tiffany swears Joohyun could hear her swallow – a pathetic gulp that echoes along the walls of her bedroom, embarrassingly loud and a dead giveaway of just how much fear Joohyun could instill in her.

 

Weak stutters spill her lips when Joohyun nudges her knees apart, as if to be closer than she already is, settling between her legs. Tiffany wonders if steam is escaping her ears; her heart must be tired from all the marathons Joohyun is making her run in.

 

“So how do I play?”

 

“W-What?”

 

“So I can win and get my prize.” Joohyun's calm patience has Tiffany frozen, “How do I play?”

 

Jokes normally aren't hard to tell, but when it's coming from Joohyun, Tiffany wonders if jokes come off her lips when she has an expression like that: as if she was betting her life, putting it on the line.

 

When she thinks about it though, in a way, Joohyun was.

 

“Was I just being nice?” Tiffany pauses, “Answer that right, and you'll win.”

 

It's a little funny how Joohyun never asks what the prize was.

 

“You weren't.”

 

Tiffany hadn't been ready for a second kiss, but when Joohyun crashes their lips together, forcing them to sink into the bed, evidently too impatient to bother hearing her say, “You're right,” Tiffany figures it's okay.

 

The only prize she could offer was herself, anyway.

 

/

 

Vacation was over and they both returned to Seoul.

 

It was discussed between soft chaste kisses and giant warm hugs that they would keep their relationship a secret. Even from their respective group members.

 

But Tiffany has a feeling, whenever she catches the two Sooyoung’s chatting around the corner, hushing their whispers whenever she’s walking with Red Velvet’s Joohyun, that some of them already know.

 

It becomes more obvious when Yoona and Yeri makes silly faces at them before slapping their backs, teasing them with mock kisses that Joohyun nearly throws a right hook at her youngest member if not for Tiffany’s cooing.

 

Wendy and Taeyeon had been more subtle about their acknowledgement, with gentle pats of encouragement and soft cheers, along with genuine curiosity over how it all started.

 

Tiffany loves how nothing needed to be said though; that their members knew as soon as they saw their linked hands, as if it differed from the norm when it physically looks just like any two hands tied together.

 

Seulgi comes up to them when they’re walking around the SM building, a hop in her steps.

 

Tiffany catches her eyes lowering to find their fingers interlocked.

 

“Holding hands?” Seulgi’s smiling, rubbing her own hands together as if to stave off a chill. “Can I hold hands too?”

 

The look Tiffany shares with Joohyun is filled with confusion, but it’s Seulgi; she was as soft (and perhaps as clueless) as a cloud.

 

“Sure,” Tiffany says, letting go of Joohyun, pretends she isn’t missing her warmth.

 

She assumes it’d be Seulgi’s respective member she wants to hold until Seulgi’s clutching her fingers, surprise jolting into her arm that Tiffany yelps at the touch – completely unprepared.

 

Seulgi is beaming.

 

“I want to hold hands with sunbaenim, too!”

 

Tiffany finds herself swallowed in her own laughter, Seulgi’s innocent happiness infectious enough that it brings giddiness in her heart, too. She can’t help but swing their hands together, charmed with Seulgi’s bright giggles; her skin is softer than Tiffany expected it to be.

 

But the frost that chills her back is freezing.

 

Tiffany tries not to stutter when she holds out her other hand, hiding her wince when Joohyun’s icy glare is puncturing enough to have her go cold in absolute zero. Even with the sun holding her other hand – still as bright and beaming as ever, Tiffany swears Joohyun could freeze it, too.

 

“Come on, Hyun-ah.”

 

Seulgi’s chirpy beside her, as if completely oblivious to death standing before her.

 

“Let’s go, unnie!”

 

Tiffany can’t tell if Seulgi’s ignorant of their relationship, but she certainly knows one thing.

 

When Joohyun finally succumbs, feeling her fingers link between hers again, Tiffany is relieved that Seulgi’s lack of awareness is sharp enough to dull Joohyun’s icy stares.

 

“So how’s it like having Tiffany sunbaenim’s hands all to yourself?”

 

Tiffany yelps as soon as Joohyun swivels around her, almost throwing a successful right cross if not for Seulgi’s quick reflex to jump away, her howling laughter ricocheting against the walls.

 

As she watches Joohyun stumble after Seulgi, pink flaring her cheeks enough to have it beaming like neon (much like the time Joohyun’s hair had shared the same color) even when she’s already on the other side of the room, Tiffany can’t help but memorize beauty’s adorable embarrassment.

 

Pink will always be her favorite.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday, friend! I'M SORRY I MISSED A YEAR LOL. Love you~

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, dear friend. Hope you and everyone else enjoy this.


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